


nothing good can come of it

by vintagelilacs



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Clueless Arthur Pendragon, Confessions, Eavesdropping, M/M, Magic Revealed, Merlin’s Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-18 17:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17585414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagelilacs/pseuds/vintagelilacs
Summary: Arthur overhears something he shouldn’t have, and doesn't react the way he should.





	1. Chapter 1

From an early age, Arthur had been taught to pay careful attention to the hum of gossip that thrummed throughout the Citadel. Uther had asserted that _‘an honest man never had need to speak in furtive tones’_ and as such, whispering could only be a sign that betrayal was brewing.

While Arthur had chalked it up to his father's usual paranoia and inherent distrust of others, he couldn’t deny eavesdropping had become second-nature to him. 

The majority of the time, any whispering he encountered proved to be inconsequential court gossip, but occasionally he overheard the hushed tones of saboteurs and conspirators harbouring ill-intent and machinations against the crown. The latter was a blessedly rare occurrence, but it had still happened enough times for him to be wary. And whispering was especially suspect when it occurred late at night. 

Which was why, upon discerning the faint susurration of voices after a late council meeting, Arthur instinctively hugged the stone wall and began inching his way towards the source. The corridor was dim, but he could just make out a pair of figures cloistered in a small alcove in the wall. 

The first figure he soon identified. Even in the poor lighting, he easily recognized the exaggerated gesticulations produced by the pair of gracelessly flapping arms. It was unusual for Merlin to convene in dimly lit corridors. If Arthur thought Merlin capable of subterfuge, he’d almost be concerned. 

“As my friend, I’d like it if you’d leave the matter alone.” Arthur had to strain to make out Merlin’s words. 

“I’m not here as your friend right now, Merlin. I’m here as a man of honour.” 

A stone of anger sunk low in Arthur’s gut as he placed the speaker. It wasn’t enough Lancelot had captured Guinevere’s affections, now he was after Merlin’s… well, Arthur wasn’t really sure what he wanted from Merlin. Whatever it was, it seemed to be a matter of contention between them, because while they were speaking quietly, their hands were a wild flurry of movement and an air of frustration seemed to radiate from their hiding spot. 

”How can I accept my title, how can I consider myself among the noblest in the land while you are ignored and sidelined?” Lancelot continued. 

“You’re the one who wanted to be a knight; not me.” 

“It’s not a matter of want. It’s a matter of merit and worthiness. Did it not hurt, when Arthur knighted Percival, a man he’d just met, and not you, who has been by his side this entire time?” 

Arthur didn’t even have time to be indignant, because Lancelot plowed on. 

“You deserve to be a knight more than any of us.”

What the hell? Lancelot was aware he was speaking to Merlin, wasn’t he? Clumsy, bumbling, incompetent Merlin. Arthur sometimes wondered if Merlin was the most fortunate man in the kingdom for being able to survive this long on sheer luck and chance alone. 

“Yeah, well, that’s not why I do it.” 

Do what, exactly? Were they rehearsing for a theatre production? If that was the case, Arthur couldn’t wait to see Merlin flub his lines during the performance. 

“Besides,” Merlin continued, “Arthur can’t know.” 

Arthur held his breath and edged closer still. 

“Just how many times have you saved his royal backside?” 

Merlin snickered. “More than I can count.” 

Lancelot laughed along with him, but it was more subdued. When he spoke up again, there was a note of awe in his muted voice. “You really are the best of us, Merlin.” 

He shrugged. ”Hey, I’m just following destiny.” 

“And does your destiny entail playing incompetent and allowing others to take credit for your deeds? The way Arthur sees you… the way he _treats_ you. It pains me to say it, but you really are nothing but a servant in his eyes.”

 _You’re wrong_. Arthur wanted nothing more in that moment to reveal himself, to challenge Lancelot's statement, but he held himself back. Merlin _was_ a servant, and Arthur did treat him like one, but it was more complicated than that. They weren’t friends, not exactly, but if circumstances were different… 

”Even if it means playing the fool, I’m happy to serve Arthur. We all have a destiny to follow, whether we know it or not.” 

If Arthur squinted, he could just barely make out Lancelot’s facial expression. Merlin, on the other hand, had his back to him, which frustrated Arthur to no end. 

“We all have a destiny,” Lancelot agreed. “But not all of us fall in love with ours.” 

Arthur’s breath froze in his lungs. He willed his heart not to beat so loudly, because the harsh tempo of it filled his ears and threatened to drown out Merlin’s response. 

“A-am I really that obvious?” Merlin’s laugh was almost a sob. His body flinched with the force of it. It seemed an involuntary spasm, like the obnoxious bouts of hiccups he was prone to. 

Arthur watched Lancelot lay a comforting hand on Merlin’s arm. “The prince has no idea how lucky he is.” 

“That’s the way it has to be,” Merlin replied, but it sounded more like he was mollifying himself than Lancelot. “He can’t know. About any of it.” 

“You do all this, make all these sacrifices, all to protect a kingdom and king who executes your kind.” 

Arthur clapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from gasping. _‘Executes your kind.’_ His mind rebelled at the implication of Lancelot’s words. Merlin wasn’t -- he couldn’t have been -- surely Lancelot meant something else -- 

Merlin did nothing to refute the outrageous insinuation. Arthur wished, more than anything, that his manservant would angle himself so that Arthur would be able to see his face, and the expression upon it. 

“I’m hoping it won’t always be that way.” Merlin’s voice was tremulous. “That maybe one day, Arthur will come to accept magic. That he’ll come to accept _me_.” 

Merlin made another little broken sound, and leaned into Lancelot’s willing touch. 

Arthur knew Lancelot had eyes only for Gwen, but he still felt blazing jealousy flare up inside him. That should have been him providing Merlin with succor. Arthur was supposed to be the one Merlin sought comfort from; not the source of his strife. 

”If he doesn’t, then he’s a fool,” Lancelot murmured, a note of finality in his voice. 

Arthur crept backwards. He’d heard enough, and he agreed wholeheartedly with Lancelot. He _was_ a fool. 

He was a fool because, unlike any rational person, he hardly cared for the fact that his trusted (and treasured) manservant was a treasonous sorcerer. 

No, he was too fixated on the fact that Merlin was, apparently, _in love with him._

It was more than he had ever dared hope for, and it was everything he knew he could never have. 

Arthur stole away to his sleeping chambers, his mind and heart heavy with the resolution that he would never resort to eavesdropping again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gets a confession, but not the one he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since some people expressed their interest I decided to continue this fic a little more

Arthur fumbled blindly for his cup, swallowing a large mouthful of wine, but tasting none of it. Unlike the previous night when Arthur had strained to make out every hushed syllable and clandestine word that passed from Merlin’s lips, he now turned a deaf ear to him. Against the din of his own thoughts, Merlin’s inane chattering was reduced to white-noise.

Arthur was barely aware of his servant’s presence (as it should be), when a loud clang rang out. He jerked in his chair, nearly toppling it in the process. 

“Oops.” Merlin had dropped the carafe of wine. His clumsiness was not uncharacteristic, but Arthur wouldn’t put it past him to have done it on purpose, as a means of getting his attention. 

Arthur huffed. “If it’s dented, you’ll be the one repairing it.”

Merlin didn’t bemoan the prospect of additional work as he was wont to do. Instead, he tilted his head and fixed Arthur with a shrewd stare that was almost reminiscent of Gaius’ penetrating gaze. “No offense intended sire, but what’s wrong with you? Besides the obvious, that is.” Even Merlin’s playful jab couldn’t elicit a proper reaction from Arthur. 

What was wrong with Arthur was the fact that his personal manservant—who incidentally happened to be his best and possibly only true friend—was lying to him, and had been for as long as they’d known each other. And the worst part? Arthur wasn’t even properly upset about Merlin’s status as a possibly traitorous sorcerer, because he was too hung up on the fact that Merlin returned his feelings. It had been difficult enough suppressing his feelings for Merlin when he thought they were unrequited, but it was doubly hard now that he knew his affections were reciprocated. 

“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” Arthur dismissed absently. He should have known that wouldn’t be enough to silence Merlin. 

“You can talk to me, you know. If you ever need to.” 

_Of course._ Arthur could confide in Merlin, but his manservant didn’t seem to think the reverse was true. He felt as if his veins were swelling with anger as heat prickled over him. Merlin had others he could confide in, people he trusted over Arthur. Lancelot, Gaius, even Gwaine. Arthur on the other hand, had no one. Once upon a time he’d entrusted his secrets to Morgana, but that time had clearly ceased. Now, he had the staunch loyalty of the knights, but theirs was a difficult relationship, complicated by power relations and class differences. Arthur had authority over them by virtue of his birth, and while he trusted them with his life, their devotion to him largely stemmed from a sense of obligation. He could turn to them for battle tactics, but not for matters of the heart. And he wasn’t very well going to turn to his father for advice or counsel; not over matters as delicate as this one. Really, the only person he was comfortable confiding in was Merlin, but that option wasn't available to him, for obvious reasons. 

“I don’t,” he said flatly. 

Merlin was too used to Arthur’s brusqueness to be fazed by it now. “Well, if you ever do, just know I’m here for you.” 

“You’re my manservant,” he said flatly. “You’re paid to be here.” 

“Not all the money in the world would be adequate compensation for what I put up with,” Merlin rejoined, before stooping to add kindling to the hearth. 

“Is that really how you feel? Working for me is that awful, is it?” He half-expected Merlin to continue their line of teasing, but instead his servant straightened and turned to face him. 

“I’m happy to serve you, Arthur.” 

He waved a hand. “Yes, til the day you die. You’ve said as much before.” 

“And I meant it. Every word.” 

Arthur wasn’t prepared for the conviction in Merlin’s tone, or the fierceness in his blue gaze. His expression was unyielding, utterly resolute in his pledge of loyalty and devotion. 

Arthur's cold veneer fractured. “What would you do,” he began softly, throat tightening as if to clamp down on the words, “if you were in love with someone you could never be with?”

Merlin faltered for a moment. “Love never comes easy, Arthur. But once you find it, you can’t let it slip away.” 

“Pretty words, Merlin. But that’s all they are.” 

“You’ve never been one to give up easily, Arthur. It’s one of the things I—one of the things I _admire_ about you. You can’t start now.”

There was something cathartic about opening up to Merlin, but he feared once he opened the dam to his thoughts, all of his inner worries and desires would rush out unbidden. “I’ve wanted for so long. Since the very first day, I think, I knew there was something there. A connection of sorts. Do you know what I mean?” 

Merlin lowered his gaze. “If you’re really in love with Gwen, you can’t let her go.” 

Arthur’s jaw actually dropped a little at that. “You think this is about Guinevere? I knew you were an idiot Merlin, but _honestly._ This is a new low.” 

Merlin spluttered. “I... you… what? T-there’s someone else? _Again?_ You’re not under another love potion, are you? Because it’s starting to get a bit excessive at this point.” 

“I’m in love with you, you dollophead!” 

”That’s my word,” Merlin protested automatically, before fully processing Arthur’s confession. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. 

The silence that unfurled between them was heavy with dread, at least on Arthur's part. As the silence persisted, Arthur realized he’d made a grave error. He must have misconstrued what he’d heard the previous night, chosen to interpret the situation the way he wanted. 

“Is this…” Merlin’s voice trailed off, uncertain. 

Arthur’s stomach writhed. He felt sick, worse than that time he’d eaten herb-crusted capon that had already gone foul. “What?” he demanded, nerves causing him to snap. 

“Is this a joke? Or do you actually—” 

Arthur was many things, but a coward was not one of them. Even if it meant sustaining a blow to his pride, he refused to rescind his confession. “I would never joke about a matter such as this.”

Again Merlin went uncharacteristically silent. It was aggravating and nerve-wracking. Merlin had referred to Arthur as his destiny, of that he was certain, and he had done nothing to deny Lancelot’s assertion that he loved Arthur, but then, a lack of denial was hardly the same as agreement. 

“I apologize,” Arthur said hollowly. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. I misstepped. Please, forget I—” 

“Me too!” Merlin burst out, his voice several decibels louder than normal. He flushed, and then, in a more level voice added, “I also feel that way. About you.” 

His admission alleviated the tightness in Arthur’s chest, replacing it with a giddy, fluttering warmth. “I’m glad.” A smile broke out on his face. 

“Me too.” 

More silence. Gods, this was awkward. Why wasn’t Merlin being his usual nattering self? 

“Um,” Merlin began after another lengthy pause, “may I ask how long you’ve felt this way? About me?” 

He didn’t have an answer prepared. “Some part of me… always.” 

“Then why now?” 

“Because," he said solemnly, "I’ve come to realize that no good can come of secrets.” 

“I think… I think I need to sit down.”

Arthur held out a hand to help ease Merlin into the nearest chair. “Quite the swooning damsel, aren’t you, Merlin?” 

Merlin gripped his wrists to the point of pain, as if fearing that if he relinquished his grip Arthur would trickle like water through his fingers, and dissipate like a dream at the first light of morning. “I still don’t understand. Why me?” 

Arthur smiled fondly. “Because you talked back to me. Because you don’t let me get away with anything, and you challenge me.” A heavy breath rattled out of him. “And... and you trust me.” He meant it to be a statement, or a reminder, but instead the tiny lilt at the end made it sound like a question. 

“I do,” Merlin assured, relaxing his hold. “Very much.” 

With no small amount of trepidation, Arthur cupped Merlin’s cheek. Touching him felt akin to muscle memory, as if they’d been sharing intimate gestures all along. He wanted to explore every inch of Merlin’s body, to chart the layers of skin that were always concealed beneath ragged clothing and atrocious scarves. He wanted to kiss him and hold him and lie with him. He wanted Merlin by his side and in his bed, but he couldn’t allow that yet, not while there was still such a tremendous obstacle between them. 

“Ask me anything, anything at all, and I’ll tell you. I trust you with all my secrets, Merlin. And I hope you know there is nothing you could say or do that would make me turn away from you.” Sorcerer or no, Merlin was loyal and compassionate and his most treasured friend. The law stated all sorcerers were evil, but if Merlin was a sorcerer, the law was could only be wrong. 

“I know,” Merlin said finally. Nothing else was offered. 

It rested on the tip of Arthur’s tongue, a precarious accusation that would alter everything between them. He didn’t know which would be better—to swallow the words back down, or release them into the air between them. 

A part of him felt immensely gratified at the idea of catching Merlin off-guard, of channeling a righteous anger, but he couldn't bring himself to jeopardize a years-long friendship, or a newfound fragile romance, for a mere moment’s satisfaction. 

What he really wanted was for Merlin to trust him, to choose to share his secret and confide in him.

“I may not always show it, but you’re dear to me, Merlin,” he added.

“I’d figured as much, what with the whole confession you just gave.” Merlin laughed, but it was somehow jarring, just as the metal wine pitcher clattering against the floor had been. 

Arthur didn't understand. He'd outright assured Merlin that nothing would come between them, and still Merlin guarded his secret. 

Something in Arthur's heart hardened. He would give Merlin anything, would keep no secrets from him, but the same was not extended to him. The crux of the matter was that Merlin didn't trust him, yet he saw fit to trust Lancelot, whom he hadn't known for nearly as long. 

Arthur's jaw clenched. There was no way he was letting the topic slide so easily, but he was also hesitant of giving too much away. He didn’t want to trap Merlin, or force him into a confession. He wanted his honesty, but only if it was freely given. 

He spoke up again. “I’ve seen so many relationships ruined by secrets and falsehoods.” Morgana and his father’s, for instance. “I want to make it clear to you that I would never keep anything from you, Merlin. From now on I want there to be nothing but honesty between us.”

Merlin was silent for a beat too long. Arthur leaned back, his eyes fixed firmly on the man he loved, the man who had looked back at him countless times and lied without even the faintest tremor or catch in his voice. 

“I would like that very much,” Merlin said. It was only because Arthur knew to look for it that he caught the faint tremble in Merlin’s smile.

“I’m glad,” Arthur murmured, carefully extricating his hand from Merlin’s. he stepped back, putting much needed distance between them.

“Is something wrong?” 

“No,” Arthur assured quickly, because if Merlin was going to lie to him, he saw no reason why he shouldn’t be able to as well. Why lay his heart bare to someone who had proven they would not do the same? “Nothing.” He took another step back, giving Merlin a wide berth. The distance between them now was bigger than Merlin could have realized, and Arthur wondered if he’d ever be able to bring himself close to Merlin again. “I’m going down to the practice pitch.”

“At this hour?” 

“Yes,” he said simply, because he was royalty and didn’t need to explain himself. 

Merlin worried his lower lip. Arthur’s eyes flickered to the mouth he’d dreamed of kissing, the mouth that had spilled lie after lie. 

“Do you want company?”

“No.”

“Arthur, I don’t understand. I can tell you're upset. Is this about what happened? Between us?”

_No,_ he answered silently. _It was about what didn’t happen_. “I need some time alone with my thoughts. In fact—” he hesitated. “I think it would be best if you took a few days off. George can cover the slack.”

Merlin looked as if he’d been struck. “Is that truly what you wish?”

Arthur lied to him for the second time that night. “Yes,” he said quietly, unable to bring his voice above a whisper. “It is.” 

Merlin opened his mouth, presumably to argue, before shutting it with an audible click. “Ah. Very good, sire. I-I could use a few days to catch up on my errands for Gaius. Lots of herbs to collect.” 

"Please,” Arthur snorted in spite of his mood. “You’re going to spend every free second in the tavern.” 

“Well, you know me.”

Arthur’s laugh caught in his throat. He felt as if he’d been doused with icy water. _The tavern._ That was yet another lie, he realized. Lies of omission, white lies, half-truths--all to conceal a bigger secret. 

The very foundation of their relationship was built on lies. Merlin was no different than his father, who had kept Morgana’s parentage a secret, or Morgana herself, who had plotted against them and lied to Arthur’s face for months. Even Gwen had kissed him even though her heart still belonged to Lancelot. Gods, when would the lying stop? The people he’d trusted unconditionally had repaid his honesty and openness with lies. What was wrong with him that no one could trust him? All the people he loved most turned on him in the end. 

He felt weary, all of a sudden. Part of him wanted to sink onto his bed and lie there for a thousand years, but the better part of him yearned for a fight, for a physical distraction and a temporary release. He was tired of gossip and hearsay and empty words. He was tired of being lied to by the people he held most dear. Even Merlin, who was supposed to be the unfailingly loyal exception, had proven no different. 

Arthur’s expression shuttered. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

“Wait!” Merlin exclaimed. 

His hand paused on the door handle. 

“I, um, just wanted to make it clear. My feelings aren’t out of obligation or duty. I really do love you.” 

Arthur couldn’t bring himself to meet Merlin’s eyes. Strangely, he found he was more sad than angry. “I know you do.” 

_But not enough._

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is appreciated


End file.
